


The Call.

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Once And Future Fic, Post-Finale, Season 5 Spoilers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peculiar-looking man shows up in Camelot with a story for Guinevere of a time that has not yet come to pass...</p><p>Arthur, the Once and Future King, is destined to return when Albion needs him most. In the year 2014, when magic has been revealed to exist and discord is spreading amongst the people of Britain, he rises once more not in a time of war but a time of prejudice to finally set things right between those with magic and those without.</p><p>Multi-chapter, not Merthur but it can be if you squint, lots of bromance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover that occurred to me purely as a coping mechanism for 5x13 because it gave us no closure and left all of my favourite characters either dead or miserable. Which I am not okay with. So I’m going to fix it, hopefully without treading on the canon’s toes too much (although to be honest I have some issues with the canon which I will not address here).
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither Merlin or Doctor Who are mine.

Guinevere leaned forward on her throne, taking in the stranger’s appearance without any urgency. From his odd jacket to his shiny shoes, his large chin to his sparkling eyes, he was the oddest-looking person she had ever laid eyes upon. He simply waited, completely at ease with her appraisal, opting to look up at the figures of Camelot’s first queens that dominated the alcoves above the throne, pulling faces at each one as though he was acquainted with them.

“May I ask your name?” she finally asked. He had strode into the courtyard, boldly as you please, and immediately asked to be taken to the Queen herself. Apparently he had shown Sir Leon a document asserting that he was a prince of a neighbouring kingdom, but upon being left alone with Guinevere, apologised for the deception. She was, however, unafraid.

“I’m called the Doctor,” he smiled up at her “I’m pleased to meet you, Queen Guinevere. I always said I knew you'd actually be lovely.”

She frowned, and he spoke again hurriedly before she could question the assertion.

“Never mind me, just rambling. I’m actually here to give you some news. Or some olds, I suppose. Or maybe not-for-a-long-times, depending on whether… Anyway, I know things that you should know too.”

Guinevere leaned back, unable to keep herself from smiling at the gentleman before her. He did not have the bearings of a knight nor the graces of a noble but there was an undeniable dignity to his being, despite obviously possessing a brain that ran faster than his tongue.

“What is this news, Doctor?” she asked calmly, before her heart jumped into her throat at his response.

“It concerns your husband.”


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. For those of you who did so, thanks for the comments and follows! I'm really excited to write this story but motivation it always brilliant. This chapter is a short one, mostly backstory and very light on the Who.
> 
> Disclaimer: Merlin and Doctor Who aren't mine. Rats.

Merlin absent-mindedly played with the scrambled eggs in front of him as images on BBC Morning News flickered before him; small explosions, shattered glass, bleeding bodies. The voice-over repeated the same phrases that had dominated the media for months now, relaying information about the underground lynch mobs, the riots, the street battles that had riddled the city of London since the exposure of magical kind during the previous year. Even now, it unsettled Merlin's stomach – it only seemed like yesterday that magic had finally been generally dismissed as myth and sorcerers were given repose from being hunted.

He had seen it all; witch-hunts, heretics burning, centuries of blindness and persecution. He had lain low, mostly assuming the guise of an apothecary, carefully ensuring that he aged until faking his own natural death and moving to a new village to begin again as a young man… But he never strayed far from Avalon. He kept busy, keeping up with modern developments in medicine and curing the local people of their ills, but he never once forgot that he was waiting, or what he was waiting for.

A twist of hatred hit Merlin's gut as a now-familiar face filled the screen; Bert Sallies, a previously obscure right-wing politician who had become the vehement head of the Anti-Magic Movement. He was engaged in one of his vitriolic speeches, calling the Mundane to arms to vanquish the threat that sorcery posed.

"There is just no reasoning with these people," he declared, staring straight down the barrel of the camera "Those who say that regulation is key to peace are but cowards, unwilling to provoke those who would see them forced into submission. Mundane people of Britain; you may think you know these sorcerers. You may even like some of them. But do not for a moment make the mistake of forgetting that they possess the power to rob you of your rights, your freedoms. They mean to control you. To hurt you. To take away everything and claim this world for themselves! So though the battle will be long and difficult, I urge you to keep fighting! Do not surrender! Fight! Fight these aberrations, these monsters-"

Merlin gave a roar and smashed his fist against the table. He felt the dragonfire flare up in his eyes and sparks burst forth as the television screen shattered, sending tiny pieces of debris flying across the room. As he shielded himself Merlin sighed; this was the third one this year.

In the sudden stillness, a disturbance outside caught his eye; the largest window of the house overlooked what was left of the lake of Avalon, and the usually-calm waters were now full of ripples. Merlin wandered hesitantly to the window, peering out over the waters with a mug of cooling tea in hand. The new day was stormy grey, but the sun could be seen trying to break through the clouds above.

At present, he had only recently begun anew in his young form; after a particularly amusing stint as the local hermit, Merlin had purchased the cottage by the ancient lake with a small portion of the money he had accrued over the fourteen hundred years of physician work. He never charged more than his patients could afford, even if it meant providing remedies for free, but he still had to live somehow. Being immortal did not exempt him from the basic necessities of survival, it seemed.

His thoughts turned back to Sallies as the ripples faded away; he had come out of nowhere, and his hatred for magical people rivalled that of Uther. Merlin's mouth twisted in bemusement as he realised he had even grown to miss the old tyrant, such was his loneliness. Uther's reign had been happier times, when all of his friends were alive and happy, and he had hoped for a future of Albion with Arthur as its king.

He had never returned to Camelot, though Guinevere had sent numerous scouts to find him and bring him home. She knew about his magic, and he knew that she knew. Percival had been the one to find him after Arthur's death, and to relay the news to the Queen. That was the last contact Merlin had made with her, and the last he had heard of Camelot, instead embracing the silence of solitude and forcing himself into indifference. He couldn't go back home; he would be haunted there. But as time went on, he came to be surrounded by dozens of ghosts all the same. Albion flourished, presumably as a result of Gwen's wisdom and compassion, and even centuries of foreign invasions after her death could not bring the nation to its knees. It survived. He survived.

Merlin snapped out of his reverie as the waters of the lake became disturbed again, this time a little more violently; no fish swam in its depths, nor would birds float on its surface. The lake of Avalon had always been devoid of life, which led the local folklore to claim that it was cursed. Merlin knew better. The lake was just waiting. The ripples stilled once more.

He sighed and sank into the window seat. He had never quite been able to get rid of the hope that filled his heart when calamity threatened to shatter Britain, hope that Arthur's return would come. The Saxons. The Normans. The Spanish Armada. The Civil War. During the Blitz he had been certain, but Arthur had never appeared. The warrior king did not appear during a time of war, even when his home was at its most vulnerable.

Suddenly, a lark swooped down from on high and landed in the shallows. It began to forage in the water for food, tiny fishes or insects. It was the first living creature to touch the waters since Merlin had waded out after sending Arthur to the isle so long ago. He froze, breathing hard as the disturbance in the water returned in bubbles and splashes, tiny waves forming and lapping against the shore.

It was time.

He dropped his mug and heard it smash against the floorboards, but he was already tearing out of the back door and careering down to the lake's edge. Slowly, out of the water, the flash of armour and glint of chain mail became visible in the weak sunlight. A golden head broke the surface, followed by a body that moved slowly, heavy with the weight of the water. Merlin's heart was beating rabbit-fast, almost nauseating him with its intensity and speed as for the first time in fourteen hundred years, he set eyes upon Arthur's face.

The king stopped, now knee-deep in the water, taking in Merlin's appearance from his tousled bed-hair to his pinstriped pyjamas to the one red slipper that had managed to stay on his foot.

"Merlin… What on earth are you wearing?" he asked hoarsely, but his face had broken into a weak grin.

A sob finally ripped from Merlin's chest as he pitched forward, splashing into the water and throwing himself into his best friend's waiting arms at long last.

From the undergrowth some way along the shore, a pair of old eyes watched the two cling to one another and eventually retreat to the old cottage. And waited.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Sorry that there’s been such a massive gap in between updates – I’ve had a very busy time recently! I hope you all had a fantastic New Year, and thank you to all of you who followed and reviewed!! Updates will be slow in coming, but I will not abandon this story, I promise!
> 
> Chapter dedicated to Acavall, who is such a good friend that I’m sure she won’t mind my blatant reference to (read: plagiarism of) her brilliant oneshot ‘Let Your Heart Hold Fast’, which you should definitely go and read. Also because there is bacon in this chapter.
> 
> Disclaimer: Would that I owned the BBC.

 

*_*_*_*_*

Guinevere bit her lip, blinking back tears at the Doctor’s words; three years had passed since she last saw Arthur. Three years of deep breaths and getting on with ruling Camelot. Three years of melancholy, only allowed behind closed doors. Three years of a wound which, when it started to heal, had its stitches torn open once more by a new memory.

“So he will come back?” she asked with only the slightest quaver in her voice.

“He did come back.” The Doctor replied

“For you. For your time” Guinevere’s voice took on a note of resentment  “I cannot reach him, Doctor. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because his story is not over yet.”

*_*_*_*_*

“You can’t stay in your chainmail, Arthur, you’ll catch TB or something.”

“TB?”

Merlin pressed his lips together very hard to prevent himself from giggling; the emotional upheaval of Arthur’s return had subsided into a giddiness that left him constantly on the edge of hysterical laughter. Presently, Arthur was stood in the hallway of his little cottage, dripping with lake water, yet refusing to take on the new surroundings unarmoured and unarmed.

“It’s a disease. Here…”

“Merlin, no offence, but your clothes are far too small for me,” Arthur eyed the hoodie and jeans that Merlin proffered suspiciously, feeling the strange fabric between his thumb and forefinger and frowning. Merlin’s felt his ears turn red as he looked at his feet, hearing Arthur sigh after a moment’s pause.

“You had those…”

“Just in case, yeah.”

Almost immediately, Merlin felt the clothing being lifted out of his grasp, and upon lifting his gaze saw an affectionate smile on Arthur’s features.

“I’m not helping you dress, by the way.”

“Why not?” Arthur looked genuinely puzzled, and the tiniest bit daunted as he glanced down at the strange garments.

“This is the twenty-first century, Arthur. People do things for themselves now. Class equality and all that.” Merlin replied with satisfaction, watching Arthur’s eyes widen in dismay.

“But I don’t know—“

“Never too late to learn. Come on, have a shower, get dressed and I’ll fill you in on the past few hundred years.”

He had meant it to come across lightly, but Arthur’s quick inhalation and rapid blinking as he turned to make his way to the poky bathroom told Merlin that perhaps his friend’s return would not go so smoothly.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“What’s a shower?”

*_*_*_*_*

After a brief struggle with explaining indoor plumbing to a very wary Arthur, Merlin took his time with putting the kettle on as the other dressed… A task which, by the sounds coming from his bathroom, was proving to be something of a challenge.

Eventually, the king emerged in a red hoodie and a pair of jeans, flexing his legs as he walked, testing the feel and give of his new clothes.

“These are strange.”

“You’ll get used to them.”

Arthur’s eyes widened as he spotted the electric kettle bubbling away, getting louder and louder.

“Are you doing that?”

“No it’s, erm,” Merlin quickly debated whether or not to get into technology at that moment, before throwing caution to the wind “electricity.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s… Sort of like lightning. What lightning is. We can use it to power machines now.”

“Lightning…” Arthur said faintly, looking utterly bewildered again as he turned to take in the room’s contents and zeroed in on the faintly smoking screen in the corner “And what is that thing over there?”

“That is…” Merlin huffed a laugh “ _Was_ a television. It lets you see people that aren’t there, that are somewhere else…”

He continued to answer Arthur’s numerous questions as he made two cups of strong tea, and carried them over to the settee. It was slightly awkward; Arthur was clearly jarred by the sudden jump forward in time while all Merlin wanted to do was animatedly recount everything that had happened between Arthur’s death and that moment.

“Merlin… What happened to Guinevere?” Arthur blurted out, clearly having been desperate to ask since their conversation had begun. He was seated on the sofa now, leaning forward and peering into his untouched mug. Merlin took a deep breath, setting his own cup down. The only sound in the cottage was the ticking of the Edwardian grandfather clock in the hall; even the birds outside were quiet.

“She ruled Camelot. For a long time. I didn’t see her again, after... “ he trailed off, unable to look Arthur in the eye “The Five Kingdoms were peaceful throughout her reign, and as I understand it she passed away peacefully in her sleep at an old age.”

He heard Arthur swallow, and it was a few moments before he pressed on in a hoarse voice.

“Alone?”

“I couldn’t go back there, Arthur… She had Leon and Percival and Gaius by her side, and she was always safe. I made sure she was always safe.”

Arthur nodded, but said nothing. There was silence for a few moments, while each struggled with his own thoughts. Merlin finally continued, unable to stop the flow of a story he had never been able to tell anyone… One that he had been both wanting and dreading relaying to Arthur alike.

“Percival came to find us but by then it was too late. He took the news back to Camelot but Gaius had already come to find me and got there first. Percival and Gwaine had left Camelot to finish off Morgana.”

“But –“

“They fought her and she won… And…” Merlin took a deep breath, steeling himself against his own words “She killed Gwaine, after torturing our whereabouts out of him.”

Arthur drew a sharp breath.

“He wouldn’t have forgiven himself,” Arthur said softly “I know… Knew him. He would have rather died.”

A lump formed in Merlin’s throat at that; he could console himself over the rest of them, but Gwaine’s death had always left a feeling like poison on his tongue. Goodness knew he had tasted it enough times.

Arthur leaned forward and put his face into his hands.

“Arthur?”

He didn’t straighten for a few long moments; when he did, his eyes were red, staring off into the distance, unseeing.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” he murmured shakily.

Merlin pressed his lips together hard.

“I think we should leave the rest of history for today,” he said softly, clasping a hand to Arthur’s shoulder.

“No,” Arthur said with a little more strength to his voice “I want to know what happened to my kingdom. To my people.”

“Well…”

It was a long afternoon. Merlin relayed an extremely condensed version of the history of Britain to a transfixed Arthur. He spoke of the Saxons and the Normans. The unification of England and the wars with France. The stories of kings and queens, the deeds of travellers who discovered new worlds across the seas. The books and plays and poetry that had defined their ages. The wars that had torn the world apart. The advances in science and technology and architecture. The explosion of new foods brought by the shrinking world. The recent violence that threatened to plunge Albion into chaos. For hours he spoke, and Arthur listened, utterly transfixed, asking questions every once in a while, but for the most part seemingly content to hear Merlin speak unimpeded well into the evening.

“You tell the stories well,” Arthur remarked when Merlin declared that he was tired of speaking, and was rewarded with a wan grin.

“Well I have written a few, here and there… Under pseudonyms of course. I’ve had enough time, as you well know.”

“Anything good?” Arthur asked with unmistakeable doubt in his voice.

“Well, they’re still publishing them… I have a few early editions on that bookshelf over there” Merlin replied, and Arthur hoisted himself to his feet, leaving a full, cold mug of tea behind.

“Geoffrey of Monmouth? _Really_?” Arthur scoffed, running a finger down the spine of _Historia Regum Britannae_ , “De Troyes? Since when are you from Gaul?”

“France, and his ones aren’t mine. I’ve kept fairly local,” Merlin corrected him, twisting on the sofa to watch the perusal of Arthurian works he’d collected over the centuries “Since when do you know anything about Gaul?”

“I was the king, Merlin, you don’t think I was taught other langu…” he paused, reaching another volume “ _Le Morte d’Arthur_ … You morbid bastard!”

He was shaking his head and smiling, eyes still not leaving the row of books.

“Ah, Tom. I gave him the ideas and he went and muddled them up, and it was a slippery slope from there,” Merlin commented “It’s just been fun to give people a little push now and again. They can get pretty creative with us.”

“Oh?” Arthur’s eyebrows rose “Do tell?”

“Lot of knights who weren’t even there. I’m sort of a wise, old man of the forest kind of person – _stop laughing_ – and you never knew your father in most of them.”

“That’s…” Arthur’s brow furrowed “Wrong.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t know you were a prince until you pulled Excalibur out of that stone… There’s a Disney movie about it, actually…”

“A what?”

“Never mind,” Merlin replied quickly, not wishing to get back into explaining film to Arthur; he hadn’t managed to grasp the concept very well previously.

“That’s all rubbish though,” Arthur continued to look puzzled as he sat back down at the other end of the sofa “What about my knights?”

“Gwaine’s your cousin. Lot of women. Liked apples.”

“Well, that’s nearly right,” Arthur smiled drily.

“Percival is a naïve country boy,” Merlin continued as Arthur nodded with a fond grin “But there’s a big thing about him finding the Hol—the Cup of Life,”

“Interesting. Leon?”

“Erm,” Merlin felt his ears turn red “Well, book binding wasn’t very sophisticated when I wrote _Historia_ and the quire with Leon in it got lost… There’s Ywain, the Knight with the Lion though, and I think that might be him. No similarities at all, but you know, lion, Leon…”

“Elyan?”

“Not Guinevere’s brother. Doesn’t do much. I think someone made him Lancelot’s cousin.”

Arthur’s lips quirked at the last name, clearly still resentful about that particular betrayal.

“Lancelot didn’t get treated fairly, Arthur. He was enchanted by Morgana when he came back from the dead. A shade.” Merlin’s tone had become very serious, and he watched as Arthur’s eyes widened “I couldn’t tell you because you were so distraught about Gwen, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway…”

“It matters to _me_ ,” Arthur’s voice held more than a trace of anger, suddenly glowering at Merlin “What’s the chance that if she’d enchanted him that she’d enchanted Guinevere too? Did you think of that?”

Merlin was frozen in place.

“How many times have you kept things from me Merlin? Lied to me, not about your magic but about myself? My family? My friends?”

They were all there in Merlin’s mind; _Uther’s betrayal of Arthur’s mother; Ygraine’s true words when she saw Arthur; Morgana’s suffering at Uther’s hands; Guinevere being shot on the hunt; Gwaine’s noble blood; Mordred’s magic. More._ All of the times he could have prevented Arthur from suffering, from making mistakes that ultimately cost him his life. And now Arthur was watching him in silence, reading the number of such occasions written across his face like ink on paper.

“Arth—“

“I’m tired,” Arthur said suddenly, rising from the sofa “Where can I sleep?”

“The room with the blue door, just on the left, down the…” Merlin trailed off as Arthur left the room without another word.

*_*_*_*

“Tell me about Lancelot.”

Merlin had woken slowly that morning, before sitting bolt upright when he remembered the events of the previous day. He had dressed in a daze, before heading to the kitchen – empty – to make breakfast for two. He decided that bacon and egg sandwiches were probably safe, and stodgy enough to put Arthur in a receptive mood. Just as he set the plates on the small table by the window, he had heard the voice behind him.

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,”

Arthur made his way over, deliberately giving Merlin a wide berth, before plopping himself down in front of a sandwich. Merlin fought to disguise his amusement as the smell of bacon clearly made itself known to the former king, and Arthur began to eye his breakfast with greater interest.

“It’s a bacon and egg sandwich. It’s good, I promise.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin as he too sat, before taking a bite and humming with satisfaction, tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He disregarded his tea. Merlin took this as a sign that it was safe to continue his tale.

“Because of what happened, Lancelot isn’t written as brave and noble as he really was. He mostly moons over Guinevere, but he goes on quests with Gwaine too.”

Arthur did not reply, though he was clearly listening.

“He eventually kills Gwaine, before Camlann,” this was met by a frown, but Merlin was not deterred “Something about Lancelot killing Gwaine’s brothers when he—“

Arthur finished the first half of the sandwich, eyeing Merlin suspiciously at his sudden halt.

“When he what?”

Merlin suddenly felt uneasy; he had been deliberately skating around Guinevere’s character in the legends, knowing how Arthur would react.

“When he, erm,” Merlin cleared his throat “Look, Arthur, you’re not going to like this, but Guinevere… See, history generally hasn’t looked too fondly on intelligent, powerful women, so Guinevere, she’s generally portrayed exclusively as, well…”

“Merlin…”

“A wanton, adulterous cow, more or less.”

“ _A what?”_ Arthur’s face turned crimson, and his knuckles were white where they clenched into fists.

“Not recently, most of the novels and television shows and movies recently are a lot closer to what she was like, feminism and equality all that, and it’s not like nobody’s aware about the sexism thing, and—“

“For more than a thousand years,” Arthur interrupted, “The world has thought of my wife like that? She ruled a kingdom on her own, Merlin! The people loved her! She was wise, and just, and… Was.”

“Arthur?”

“Was.”

Merlin realised that Arthur had been referring to Guinevere in past tense, and a sudden grief had splashed itself plainly across his face.

Just as Merlin opened his mouth to comfort his friend, there was a rhythmic rapping on the front door. Arthur looked at Merlin, and Merlin looked at Arthur.

“You’re not expecting anyone?”

“No. You?” Merlin replied sardonically.

They both looked to the door as the letterbox swung open, revealing a pair of eyes that peeped inside before coming to rest on the two of them.

“If you’re quite finished catching up, boys, I’d like to come in and talk to you, please,” came a muffled, unfamiliar voice. Merlin crossed the room, still perplexed, and pulled the door open hesitantly. The stranger was still bent down to letterbox level, and didn’t straighten up right away, almost as though the notion has slipped his mind.

“Hello?”

“Hello!”

“Er, sorry, do I know you?

“No! I’m the Doctor,” the stranger said grandly– he was wearing a tweed jacket and suspenders with a bright bow tie, in addition to a wide grin.

“Doctor what?”

“Just the Doctor, not a physician, mind you… Although I am qualified to treat several species in medicine, though I think I’ve been banned from consulting anything with more than three shoulders…”

“What?” said Arthur weakly, still seated at the kitchen table. The Doctor sailed past Merlin, taking his seat and reaching for Arthur’s undrunk tea.

“King Arthur!” he said with gusto, taking a swig “Not a fan of tea, I see – it’s a nice brew that one, should have tried it, they called it Earl Grey but I’m fairly certain that old Charlie didn’t even like it. Anyway, pleasure to meet you at last, you’ve certainly taken your time coming back… Not that it’s an inconvenience to me, of course, but your friend here has been waiting for a while, I believe.”

Arthur and Merlin could only gape at the stranger, who picked up a half of Merlin’s sandwich and chomped on a corner, pulling a face.

“Eugh, tomato sauce!”

“Excuse me, but how do you know who we are?” Merlin finally found his voice, coming to stand at Arthur’s side. Magic prickled across his skin, warming the palms of his hands; he was braced to attack.

“Everyone knows who you are! Well not you two personally, obviously—“

“Alright, alright,” Merlin cut in before another tangent could begin “But what do you want with us? How did you find this place?”

“I’m a seasoned traveller,” the stranger replied “I know how to find people when I need to.”

“And you needed to find us?”

“Yes,” the Doctor’s mood suddenly switched from jovial to very, very serious “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Merlin, but things in this country aren’t exactly sunshine and roses right now,”

Arthur looked between the Doctor and Merlin, who had become very still.

“You know what it’s like, to feel alone for being different. To live in fear because of what you are. And it’s happening again, to those with magic. You’ve seen the news…” he nodded at the broken television “Clearly.”

“Yes, I have,” Merlin replied softly.

“What have we got to do with it, though?” Arthur finally interjected warily “Why have you come to find us?”

The Doctor’s eyes twinkled.

“Because, boys, this story is not over yet.”

*_*_*_*

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a multi-chapter fic but updates may be a little interrupted because I have some big things coming up soon, but I promise to finish it!


End file.
